Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
Calix
She looked better today.
The glassiness was gone from her eyes, and her complexion no longer resembled sewer water. She’d even eaten the omelet I’d made her for breakfast. Not that she knew it was from me. I’d made De Beaux go check on her when I heard the shower running.
I needed distance from her. Perspective. I’d thought calling her bluff on the whole sexual service thing would get her out of my system. She’d call me an asshole and refuse to let me near her, and I could move on with the tour and write something that wasn’t all about her.
Instead, fucking her felt like coming home, and her taste…I now had a better idea of the euphoria that kept Tobias chasing that next hit. I was an addict, and my substance of choice was someone I couldn’t afford to trust. She had the power to take away everything I’d built.
So I kept my distance, and I watched.
“You look more broody than usual,” Harvey muttered, sliding into the seat across from me and eyeing the sheet music I’d spread across the table. “What’s crawled up your ass?”
“Fuck off, De Beaux. Not everyone is as interested in asses as you.”
An interesting flush of pink crept up his neck before he rolled his eyes and slid the sheet I was working on toward himself.
“You writing a love song? Or an anthem for the sexually frustrated?”
It seemed I wasn’t the only one with a certain manager on his mind.
Before I could snipe back, Tatum slid into the seat beside Harvey. Clenching my jaw, I bit back a growl. I was not jealous that she chose to sit next to him and not me. Really, I wasn’t.
Not like I was the only one who helped her yesterday. After she’d fallen asleep, I fell down a rabbit hole of internet forums discussing the best ways to deal with menstrual cramping.
I had some very interesting ideas to try next time she needed help.
“Good morning, what are you writing?” she asked.
De Beaux smirked and spread his arms behind her.
“Nothing, really. Just fucking around with some chord progressions,” I lied, subtly checking my lyrics weren’t visible under the pages of sheet music.
“Oh, okay. I’d love to hear it if it becomes something,” she said.
Harvey pulled a face behind her back, and I pretended her interest in my music wasn’t the highlight of my morning.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” I asked, redirecting the conversation. I’d have to start writing about something else soon, or our next album was going to be a wash.
“You and I have a radio guest appearance to get to, while the others are—oh, hello—”
Her sentence was cut off as a tattooed hand lifted her face. Without a word, Tobias dropped a searing kiss on her mouth, shifting until his back blocked my view. A small noise bubbled out of her throat, and De Beaux, the asshole, cackled in delight.
“That’s the way you say good morning,” he crowed as my brother pulled back, leaving our little manager looking stunned and more than a little off balance.
“Morning, Angel.”
“Hi.” Her voice was breathy, and I felt something ugly turn in my gut. I never pulled that softness out of her. Toby gave me a smile as he sauntered toward the coffeepot.
“You shouldn’t take advantage of him like that,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
She had been watching him walk away, fingertips pressed gently to her lips with an expression close to wonder on her face. At my words, her eyes snapped back to mine, her face shuttering into the defensive one I saw most of the time.
“I don’t see how this is any of your business, Calix. Go get ready. We leave in fifteen minutes.”
“Of course it’s my business. He’s my brother. On top of that, he’s a drug addict who can’t stay straight long enough to know what the fuck he’s doing.”
Harvey shuffled closer to the window, doing his best to disappear as Tatum bristled, but it was Toby who spoke up next.
“Is that what you really think of me? Of course I know what I’m fucking doing. How about you stop using me as a weapon and start dealing with your own shit. I’m not your project, and I won’t be the reason you push people away. Grow the fuck up and start living your life for yourself.”
This was the fight I needed. I surged out of my seat, flinging words that didn’t register in the moment, but relishing in the way they cut.
I had a burn-the-world self-destruction streak a mile wide, and it occurred to me that maybe this would be the thing that puts a big enough divide between Tatum and me to help me move the fuck on.
When I ran out of words, the silence was eerie. Tobias’s face was a shade of white I hadn’t seen since his last blowout on GHB, and as I played the words back in my head, hearing them for the first time, I realized I’d gone too far.
“I’m—” I reached for my twin, my other half, but the damage was done.
He stormed off the bus and disappeared between the other vehicles in our convoy.
Hopefully, he was headed to the venue to burn some energy on the drum kit, or maybe he’d find Lainey and burn the destructive energy in a different way.
The small part of me that had picked this fight in the first place took a measure of happiness in the idea that if he fucked Lainey, it’d break the exclusivity agreement with Tatum, and I wouldn’t have to see them again together.
Fuck, I was such an asshole.
Between one heartbeat and the next, the fight drained out of me, replaced by a shame so great that I refused to meet anyone’s eye as I dressed for the radio interview and waited for Tatum in the rental car.
The drive to the station passed in a silence heavy with judgment.
I knew Tatum wanted to rip me to shreds for how I’d spoken to Tobias, and rightly so, but I appreciated her leaving the confrontation until after our work commitment.
As we steered through increasingly tall buildings, her lips pursed with the effort to keep her opinions to herself.
Glancing at the navigation system, I pointed out a tall building on the corner of the next block.
“It’s that one there. We can find a place to park and walk over.”
Great idea in theory. Unfortunately, it seemed news of our arrival preceded us, and we were greeted on the sidewalk by a growing crowd wielding cell phones as effectively as any paparazzo.
“Move,” Tatum growled, shouldering through the wall of technology and beating a path to our destination.
Hands reached for me, grabbing at my jacket, at my arms, and I focused firmly on my manager’s ass to avoid losing my mind.
The building security guards took over the situation a moment later, meeting us in the middle of the street and holding back the growing mass of people as we retreated behind the glass entry doors.
“Elevators are on your left. Studio is on level thirteen,” a bored-looking woman drawled from behind the concierge desk.
From the corner of my eye, I watched Tatum turn her gaze from the woman to the elevators to me, before sweeping the lobby for a plan B.
“Wait here if you want. I’m not waiting for you to climb thirteen flights of stairs.”
I told myself I was trying to make her angry to give her the courage to use the elevator, but there was a self-destructive part of me that wanted more of this morning’s fight. I wanted to hurt, and I knew if I pushed her buttons, Tatum could be the one to give me exactly what I needed.
“Fuck off, just press the button. Let’s get this done already.” Her voice was heavy with resignation, and a flash of memory—Toby and me holding her in bed while she told us about the source of her claustrophobia—made me feel like more of an asshole than usual.
I didn’t miss her flinch when the elevator dinged to announce its arrival, but she still shouldered past me to enter first.
With her back pressed against the wall, palms flat on the metal surface, she braced like she was ready for the floor to drop out.
“Are you coming?”
Shit.
I hit the button for the thirteenth floor and leaned my ass against the back wall, close enough that we were almost touching.
My stomach dropped as we began our ascent, and I resisted the urge to count the floors as we passed.
We’d arrive soon enough; the car was moving at quite a speed.
A metallic grinding lanced through the car like a curse as we lurched to a stop.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I murmured.
Tatum let out a whimper. The lights flickered.
“We’ll start moving any second now.”
We didn’t.
Tatum folded her arms around herself, and I hit the emergency intercom, waiting through several rings before the speaker fell silent.
“They know we’re in here. They’re probably already trying to get us out.”
“Calix, don’t take this the wrong way, but shut the fuck up.” Her face was rapidly losing color, and a fine tremor shook her shoulders. She was trying for her usual fire, but even to a self-centered asshole like me, it was obvious she wasn’t coping.
“What do you need?” I asked, moving closer to her.
She slid gracelessly down the wall, curling into a tight ball as her breathing picked up speed. Her knuckles were white where they gripped her knees, and when I crouched in front of her, forcing eye contact, her eyes shone with unshed tears.
Panic didn’t listen to reason, and my hardass manager was seconds away from an attack unless I could ground her.
I pried her fingers free of one knee and pressed her palm to my chest, cupping her face with my other hand. “Stay with me, princess. We’re going to breathe. Okay?” I sucked in a deep breath, squeezing her hand as it rose, then blew the air out on a long exhale.
No response. Her eyes became unfocused as sweat beaded on her forehead.
“Tatum.”
I fisted her hair, tight enough to send a small pain signal to break through the fog. On the next inhale, her breath slowed to meet mine. For a few long minutes, we just breathed. In and out until the world narrowed to the space between us. The next heartbeat.
“Good girl,” I murmured.
Something flared in her eyes at the compliment, and I filed it away to examine at a later date.
“Calix—”
A loud crackle cut her off as a disembodied voice filled the space. “Mister Quinn? I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. We have emergency services en route to get you out of there.”
The intrusion brought the world back into focus.
My skin crawled beneath her palm, and I flinched away before I could catch myself, turning away from the tear that tracked down her cheek.
“Just hurry up and get us the fuck out of here,” I growled, tucking my hands into my pockets and staring at the speaker like I could pretend the moment with Tatum never happened.
Ten minutes later, a metallic screech rent the air, and the elevator doors inched apart. A bright red helmet filled the space, then lifted to reveal a smiling young face.
“How we doing in here, guys? Would anyone like a lift out?”
I didn’t appreciate the levity, or the way the smile turned that bit more interested as he noticed my broken little manager.
Letting my scowl speak for me, I waved Tatum forward and helped her climb out first, before lifting myself through the gap.
We were immediately swarmed by staff wearing expressions ranging from placating to jokingly admonishing.
I was fucking done.
Without bothering to acknowledge any of the faces in front of me, I gripped Tatum by the hip and steered her toward the stairwell in the far corner of the room.
“What about…?” she asked weakly.
“Don’t give a fuck. We’re leaving.”
The fact that she didn’t bother to fight me on it told me how close to the edge she was.
And as usual, it was my fault.